Thunderbolts and Lightning
by grannysknitting
Summary: A flash of lightning, a bolt of thunder and Sherlock wakes to a stranger in his bed. Slash mentioned.


**Thunder Bolts and Lightning (Sherlock BBC Fanfic)**

Set after 'A Relationship with Sherlock Holmes'

January 2nd, 11:13

Current Mood: drained

Current Music: LOUD WITH A BEAT

The first time that they experienced a proper thunderstorm in Baker Street - thunder so loud the house shook and lightning bright enough to leave afterimages on the retina, Sherlock and John had been lovers for only a few weeks. This was London, and extreme thunderstorms were not as common as one would think - rain, blizzards and hail, yes: thunder storms, not so much.

It had been close and humid all day, which had affected the inhabitants of Baker Street differently. Mrs Hudson had come over with a headache and been sent to lie down with a cool cloth over her eyes, while Sherlock had been enervated and listless. John had finally taken himself off to bed when Sherlock had begun experimenting with atonal note clusters.

Sherlock had joined him once the violin held no further interest for him and they had been sound asleep when the first flash of lightning and clap of thunder had woken them, shaking the whole house. Sherlock had jumped in surprise, taut with shock, but John...

John had jack-knifed upright in the bed, his gun pointed at the window.

"John?" Sherlock asked, sleep clogging his voice. This was one of the reasons he disliked the activity so much - it slowed him down and made him sound thick. John's presence in the bed more than made up for that, though, so Sherlock didn't resent it too much.

"Matty, where is your sidearm?" the response was barked at him, but then there was another clap of thunder and John's hand fisted in his t-shirt, dragging him from the bed and stuffing him underneath it.

"What are you doing in my bed, and where are we?" John spat, "Never mind. We need to get out of here - they're shelling us!"

That last comment served to confirm to Sherlock that his lover was caught in a flashback and he scrambled along obediently when John dragged him towards the door. They barrelled through it and onto the landing and then Sherlock found himself shoved against the wall, the gun pressed to his chest barrel first.

"You're not Matty. Where am I?" the chilling tone was made all the more so by John's blank gaze. Whenever Sherlock met those eyes there was usually warmth there, combined with a myriad of emotions depending on their situation. Now there was no recognition.

"You're home, John, in Baker Street," Sherlock said calmly, not at all worried that the man in front of him was about to pull the trigger. John had more respect for life than that - it was more likely that he'd knock Sherlock out and then leave the house: an outcome to be avoided at all costs, not in the least because he didn't want to deal with the resulting headache.

"Home? What..." there was a slight thawing in the eyes in front of him, even as the thunder rattled the house once more. The upstairs landing had no windows in this part and the doors downstairs were shut, so there was no flash to trigger another bout of paranoia.

"It's a thunderstorm," Sherlock didn't move as the fist in his shirt eased its grip, "You're home in Baker Street with me and Mrs Hudson. The thunder and lightning took you by surprise. We're quite safe."

John twisted and threw the door to their room open again, looking in at the civilian furnishings and the small amount of clutter he'd let Sherlock bring with him. When his head turned back he was John again, not the soldier under fire and Sherlock gave him a small smile. That smile faded when a look of complete horror overtook John's face and he handed the gun in his fist to Sherlock, his complexion taking on an unhealthy tinge. Sherlock took the gun as John bolted for the bathroom, the retching noises inside more than explanatory.

Sherlock ejected the clip from the Browning and hid it atop the door frame, then walked into the bathroom and stored the empty gun in the medicine cabinet. There had been a reason they were sleeping with John's gun to hand, something that John usually refused to do. Now Sherlock knew why. Sherlock just hoped that if the reason came calling he'd have time to reassemble the gun. John was on his knees before the toilet, retching with all the vigour of a drunk coming off a three day bender. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and wet a flannel, passing it to his lover and then heading back to their room. He pulled the blankets and pillows from the mattress and made a bed of them on the landing floor before going to rescue John from drowning in the sink as the other man cleaned himself up.

John was cold and pale and shaking violently, which Sherlock didn't approve of at all. He bedded his doctor down quietly and curled up beside him, wrapping his arms and legs around the other man in an effort to calm and comfort him. He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a Bit Not Good.

END?

Disclaimer - characters and setting as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.

AN - we had a HUGE thunder storm last night - and while it was keeping me awake I thought this up


End file.
